The Angels We Love

Another Day, My Dear

I awoke with the sensation of gentle lips on my cheek. A faint recollection reminded myself of you. Only you. Your presence had become all too familiar to me.

I could feel the skin on your forearm gently brushing against my own, the warmth of your hands radiating next to mine where they sat beside each other on the table. I felt your foot rap-tap-tapping on the ground next to my heeled shoe. The dimmed expression in your eye was no stranger to me. I thought, maybe today.

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The clouds at the beach were a lazy sort of gray, as if they were uncertain of whether to clear out or unleash a storm. I, too, lived in this middle ground; the permanent impasse. Torn between giving up on a dream and striving towards achieving it.

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The flow of traffic was heavy, the only crosswalk flickering unsurely as to offer an indecisive promise of safety. I feared for the security of us; hoping the feeble ties we had built up would not be vanquished in that moment. I inquired as to whether or not you considered us friends, you let out your beautiful laugh and called me stupid. I had never been more pleased at being addressed as dim-witted.

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Your eyes were an earthy brown, new with the promise of a flower that had yet to bloom. I only saw happiness when I looked at you, miserable only because I was not your source of sunlight. She was the fertilizer, the sunlight, the rain. I became a weed. The dream I had awoken with faded away to repressed cries. Not today, I knew; but perhaps another day.

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Your fist collided with my stomach. Infinitely better than physically hitting my heart, I felt the pain spidering about my abdomen, the agonizing sensation eternally preferable to the tears I had shed the night before. You were here, you were real. In my memories, I only saw you. I felt the bruise forming on my body; in a moment of anger I asked if you would ever treat her this way, intentionally causing pain. I could illicit no response. He was not trying to attract me; I did not inform him of his utter failure.

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You sang to me that day. We ate our ice cream together in the backseat of the car, you teaching me the words to what would later become my favorite song. You spun around and stared deep into my soul as you spoke a single word, hesitate. I unknowingly, unconsciously waited for you to complete the action my idealized dreams had carried out so many times before. Again, it did not come. I wished she didn't exist. I wished that I was better.

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You walked with me in the rain one afternoon. We carried a box that contained a Christmas present for her. I smiled at you while screaming curses inside. For a moment I tried to pretend that I was the recipient of this gift, that the back alleys we took in an effort to conceal her surprise would lead to the moment I so enviously desired. Your mind was on anything but me. Perhaps she would meet you underneath the mistletoe tonight; another scar appeared on my arm. I knew the moment was gone. Another day was nowhere near.

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For years I had answered to a false name. A cruel nickname christened to me by those who facetiously wanted us together more than I myself. I let myself believe that idea was real, that perhaps through all the teasing you had an inkling of the same hope. How naive, how blind. She would always cast a shadow over me, remaining superior in every aspect. I had nothing to offer you. I prayed, for a single moment, you would see through the wall I put up and grant me a promise. Instead, your promise turned to a humored smirk as you told me it was time to leave.

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I couldn't finish my book today. Setting down the smooth white pages to deal with a love that wasn't there, I jeopardized my sanity once more to bring my mind to thoughts of you. Oh, how the characters understood, how I pitied them! I began to hate them for getting their happy ending before the conclusion of the novel whereas I had no happiness in sight with the added desire of cutting my story short. I hoped you would show up at my door, I hoped you would set me free.

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I dreamt the same dream again. I let a rusty bike guide me down a sharp decline of an old, cracked road. I sat with you next to an ambulance. You gave me your promise. I didn't have to wait for tomorrow in my dreams.

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I remembered old words you spoke to me. Consisting of laughter and clear skies, it was hard to fathom that most of my existing memories were revealed in the same cloudy gray as our best days. What I could recollect most vividly were five simple words. Then you'll be alone, forever. It only hurt because it came from you, it only stung because you held the answer, it only mattered because of what I felt. I wanted you to be the sole source of my happiness. What I soon learned was that sole meant only, the solitary source of my jubilance; but I was numb inside. My only possession of something solitary was myself, and I was an expert at functioning alone. I just didn't much fancy you leaving me lonely.

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Your dull tone crushed me. The voice that once filled my being with excitement now recited pleasantries in monotone, conversing as strangers who hadn't shared hours upon hours together. I considered the possibility that the world of my dreams had too heavily influenced my outtake on reality, that I expected too much from him. My dreams made me feel something reality had not allowed me to experience. It was indescribable, the feeling he brought me. Reality was the disappointment of seeing his interest slowly fade before you, the disregard of simple details and important moments. I was watching myself lose what I still considered the most sacred blessing in my life. I could not realistically expect any past, present, or future version of him to carry out the kiss his dream self had placed on my lips so many times before. How unreal it would be for it to quite actually occur. Another day, I prayed. Another time.

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Distractions were no solace to me. My behavior was obsessive and in no way justified. I loved you more than people loved the Lord, I loved you more than I loved myself. My growing hatred for who I was and continued to be sprouted at the seedling of the idea that my feelings for you were my fault. I felt sorry that you had to put up with my affections in lieu of our friendship, sorry that I could not make them go away. Yet I still desired your touch so strongly. I had periods where I longed for you, split second moments where I was cruelly greeted with my orchestrated version of our shared love actually existed. Your hugs, your kisses, your touch. I hated the world and its bias, I hated her for getting you time and time again, I hated you for not loving me. Incessantly selfish and undeniably rude was what I was, but I needed no reminder. Jealousy was forever prominent, and I was forever enslaved.

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Some days were harder than others. I missed you relentlessly when you were none but twenty feet away from me. In my perception, that twenty feet was an unending barrier that only proved to show that my dream was purposely destined to be unattainable. The barrier grew, and my time was running out. As destiny would have it, I was not meant to spend my entire life lusting after you, even though I knew a small part of my heart always would. I knew I was never meant to receive my kiss, and that our only real time together existed in dreams. A different lifetime, I suppose, is where our fate will rest. Another deception to add to my lies, another hope I send to a different time. Dreams aren't always destined to become a reality. Perhaps, another day, my dear, will come the promise you never kept.

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